Oath Of Occultism Poem by pedro moshood

In the darkest time
When reason is nothing
And our heart is torn apart,
Then the last droplet of the rebel's blood
Must drown the hilt of the master's sword.
In that last hour, when we were wondering souls
And damned to live without our will
Like a lungfish washed out of its shelter
And left upon the coast to fight for its life
In the midst of preying vultures,
But for our survival right there and then
Is the ancient knowledge of the new plane.

ii
When the witches are hovering
Around the coven to cast their
Last spell and to lead us into
The depth of darkness
That they have brought to life
Right within the heart of sons of men,
Though they fly like bat, we will pluck their wings
And turn them into a mole rat for defiance,
Because we are the darkness they chant
Every day, and before the birth of coven
We've passed the gates and built the ways
That lead to the temple of the great Dragon.

iii
The chant of our sleeping priestess
Still hangs above the groove like the sky,
And the river of Styx we invoked now runs
Over its bank and it has combined with
The spring of fresh water, bringing to death
All that was living and that will live
As a token of allegiance for the oath we took
With the blood we collected in gourd to put our heart
In a bond and cast disunity into the air men breathe.

iv
As we grow the wings to meet in sky range,
Do not leave the stone unturned,
Or let the bats out before nightfall,
Or teach a stranger how church owls hoot.
So, instead, build a shrine for the goddess
And let the shrine you build with the stones
Remained untouched for the sacredness
Must not be defiled by non-initiates
Who are not ready to pay the price
Butjust to take a look and leave at will,
Otherwise, that will be doom to the oath ofour brotherhood.